The Half-Back eBook

But even suspense comes to an end, and presently Joel
found himself seated by West in the crowded hall,
and felt his face going red and pale by turns, and
knew that his heart was beating with unaccustomed violence
beneath his shabby vest. Professor Wheeler made
his speech—­and what a long one it seemed
to many a lad!—­and then the fateful list
was lifted from the table.

“Senior class scholarships have been awarded
as follows,” announced the principal. “The
Calvin scholarship to Albert Park Digbee, Waltham,
Massachusetts.” Joel forgot his unpleasant
emotions while he clapped and applauded. But
they soon returned as the list went on. Every
announcement met with uproarous commendation, and boy
after boy arose from his seat and more or less awkwardly
bowed his recognition. The principal had almost
completed the senior list.

Joel’s hands were cold and his feet just wouldn’t
keep still. The principal leaned down and took
up the upper middle class list. West nudged Joel
smartly in the ribs, and whispered excitedly:

“Now! Keep cool, my boy, keep cool!”

Then Joel heard Professor Wheeler’s voice reading
from the list, and for a moment it seemed to come
from a great distance.

“Upper middle class scholarships have been awarded
as follows:” There was a pause while he
found his place. “Goodwin scholarship to
Harold Burke Reeves, Saginaw, Michigan.”

West subsided in his seat with a dismal groan.
Joel did not hear it. It is doubtful if he heard
anything until several minutes later, when the pronouncement
of his name awoke him from the lethargy into which
he had fallen.

“Masters scholarships to Joel March, Marchdale,
Maine—­”

“It’s better than nothing, Joel,”
whispered Outfield. “It’s fifty dollars,
you know.” But Joel made no reply.
What was a Masters to him who had set his heart on
the first prize of all? Presently, when the lists
were over, he stole quietly out unnoticed by his chum,
and when West returned to the room he found Joel at
the table, head in hands, an open book before him.
West closed the door and walked noiselessly forward
in the manner of one in a sick-room, At length he asked
in a voice which strove to be natural and unconcerned:

“What are you doing, Joel?”

The head over the book only bent closer as its owner
answered doggedly: